


The Fools Who Dream

by polynigmeon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Flirting, La La Land AU, M/M, Slow Burn, Teasing, based off the film with a little more added, mccree is seb and hanzo is mia, other characters fill different roles, probably not lol, smut MAYBE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polynigmeon/pseuds/polynigmeon
Summary: Hanzo, an aspiring actor who wants nothing more to be on the "big screen" has a chance run-in with a wannabe jazz artist. For months afterwards, the two see each other many different times, destiny seems to be pulling them together. But was it meant to be





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first fanfic i've ever written and posted for others! i hope you all enjoy it! i'll try and post chapters weekly. so expect chapter two soon!

The sound of LA was very.. interesting. It was music to some ears, but just the sound of noise to others. Different cars had their different tastes in music. Some listened to classical, others rap. While some just listened to talk radio. It was never the same for every car. Seated in a relatively new Beetle, was a man. His face was stone, set at a resting bitch face. Hair shaved on the sides and tied back into a ponytail. The man’s nose was pierced at the bridge, but he wore no piercing today, since he had an audition. His name was Hanzo Shimada.

Hanzo was never thrilled about an audition. It’d been the same thing for the past few years. He’d come in, give it his all, then get declined. Sometimes he’d get interrupted by someone- a call coming in, or someone wanting lunch -it was embarrassing. Now stuck in traffic, he practiced the lines he needed to recite for said audition. “You are not the first assassin sent to kill me. And you will not be the last. .. This was once my home, did your mentors not- Wait.. No..” The actor paused to glance at his script, picking up the mostly crumpled piece of paper, eyes scanning over the highlighted lines. “Ah.. Masters.” He whispered, jolting when the shrill sound of a car horn interrupted his train of thought. Looking in his rear view mirror, he saw a bearded man in.. was that a cowboy hat? How stupid. He flipped off the other as he drove past, realizing that the cars in front of him were far ahead, and quickly stepped on it to make it to work on time.

Traffic was mostly clear all the way to the tea shop. Hanzo made it just in time, too, his boss was about to call him and tell him he was late. He quickly put on his apron, standing behind the counter, ready for work. The actor ran through the lines in his head as he waited for another customer to order their raspberry tea. Their most popular tea selection was the fruity teas, seeing as they were sweet and full of flavor. Personally, he enjoyed black tea, it was bitter and gave him a good kick first thing in the morning. Something he desperately needed, especially before he went to an audition or work.

There was a buzzing in his pocket, phone lighting up with an alert on his calendar. “Ah.. Shoot. I have to go, it’s fifteen after,” He said, receiving a nod from his boss while he quickly rushed out. Hanzo grabbed the script on the counter, looking down at it, failing to notice the person with a cup of iced tea walking in front of him. The two collided, spilling tea all over the front of his work shirt. Face turning red, he stared down at his shirt, quickly rushing out of the store and into his car. Slipping a jacket on, the actor booked it down to the office building where auditions were being held.

\---

“No.. _How…?_ My brother is dead.” Hanzo said staring at the wall in disbelief, hearing one of the people read off the line for him. “Genji! What have you beco..” He stopped in the middle of his line, hearing someone knock on the door behind him. He tried to ignore it, looking to the people with an unchanging expression. “May I continue..?”

“Actually. I think we’re done here.”

“R..Really..?”

“Yes, thank you for coming in.”

Hanzo felt his heart sink, walking out the room and stormed down the hallway. He stared ahead with a stone cold expression, walking into the elevator and went down to the lobby once more. Unzipping his jacket, he stepped into his car, banging his head against the wheel with a loud honk. “Damn it..” He muttered under his breath, staring at his feet for a few minutes before turning his car on and began to drive away.

\---

Once at the house, Hanzo took a long shower, water washing over his dragon tattoo. He’d gotten it a few years ago, matching his brother’s green version of it on his other arm. The actor turned off the water, wrapping his towel around his waist and walked out of the shower. His stone expression stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror, humming a short tune before a short green-haired male burst in.

“Hanzo!! You’re taking way too long in the shower!” The man yelled, wiping off the mirror more, leaning in to fix his makeup. This elicited a chuckle from the older, making him back up and out of the bathroom.

“Just giving you an entrance, brother,” He replied, looking to Amélie, who was almost as emotionless as he. She had hints of a smile on her face. Hanzo was quick to leave the bathroom, opting to brush and tie his hair up in his room.

“Is there a party in the bathroom now..?” He heard Zenyatta chime from the hallway. Smiling to himself, he slipped on a pair of underwear underneath his towel.

“Hey Hanzo! You going to the party?” A party? Something he wasn’t prepared to be invited to.

“I think I will sit this one out,” He said, laying in his bed, clad in a pair of boxers only. It was Amélie who entered his room, sitting down next to him.

“Come on, mon ami. It will be fun to make fun of the Hollywood personalities.” She said, trying to be reassuring to the japanese man.

“We can’t make fun of ‘em! What if a big name is there?” Genji asked, entering Hanzo’s room and sifted through his closet, trying to find a nice set of clothes for the other.

“Then we will make fun of them.. Quietly,” Zenyatta chimed in, wearing a nice button down shirt and brown bowtie that matched his pants. His voice was always very calming and almost healing.

The oldest of the four considered his options, but shook his head. “I hope you all have fun. I had a long day.” Hanzo said, ushering the three out of his room.

“Alright brother, suit yourself. I’ll say hi to you from my mansion in 5 years.” He teased, leaving the house with the two other roommates.

Laying in bed, Hanzo stared at the ceiling. He considered his options. Mope around or get out there. He shot for the latter.

 

_”--wait!”_


	2. Someone in the Crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey! decided to post this tonight because it's short and to pique more interest for chapter three!  
> ill probably post chapter three after further revision and edits, ahaha.

Parties and Hanzo definitely did not go together. He was never a social butterfly like his brother, but somehow even Amélie managed to find a girl to talk to. She looked young. Shaved head and hair dyed purple. A good find, he thought to himself. Within the first hour of the party, the actor lost his friends, trying to make conversation with others. It seemed that everyone he talked to were unanimously uninterested in what he had to say. It was both frustrating and incredibly discouraging. How was he supposed to make it big if he couldn’t even hold a lengthy conversation with anyone?

Once he was truly alone, Hanzo made his way to the bathroom. Absentmindedly fixing his hair, he stared at his own reflection, sighing softly. He let his expression soften slightly, eyes trailing down to the sink before washing his hands slowly. “Is someone in the crowd… the only thing they really see..?” he murmured, reaching up to wipe his face with water from his damp hands. The actor sighed again, exiting the bathroom. He was going to leave. He can’t be here anymore. He can’t keep trying and embarrassing himself as usual.

All the sound drowned out around him, ignoring the looks he received from the various people around him. He could already hear their whispers about him. _‘Wow, leaving already?’ ‘He doesn’t even look drunk,’ ‘How lame. He’s probably a nobody.’_

                                                              When in reality, they all were focused upon themselves.

\---

Once out of the party, Hanzo had made his way to his car, only to find his blue Buggy nowhere to be found. He groaned out loud, exasperated. Okay. This is fine. Just call a… He looked to his phone, the screen not turning on when he hit the home button. The actor resisted the urge to throw the device, walking down the street angrily. It was going to be a long walk back to his shared house.

The streets were dark and almost intimidating, but the look on Hanzo’s face was far more intimidating than the streets of LA. He ignored the people he walked past, staring ahead with the anger of ten thousand suns. Walking past a mural, he slowed down at the sound of a piano playing, stopping entirely after moving past the door. A sweet melody emitted from the restaurant, a tune that was enticing and new. Something he hadn’t heard before. It seemed to be calling him, dragging the actor inside.

Standing in the entrance, Hanzo stared at the stranger on the piano. Untrimmed beard decorating his chin, combed hair pulled back in a ponytail. He obviously took a long time to get ready, judging by how his beard was nicely brushed, but it had evidence of not being shaved in months. He wore a nice suit, dark brown in hue, and a red tie that obviously clashed. No one seemed to notice it but the actor that stood in the doorway.  
N o one seemed to be paying attention to his song.  
 No one seemed to care.  
                                No one but Hanzo.

                                        The sweet melody of the piano was drowned out by the shrill honk of a car horn.


	3. You're Fired.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From McCree's POV. What his day consists of- run-ins with delinquent teenage girls, incompetent drivers, and a terrible boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! Sorry for not posting in a while!! Shit!! I lost motivation really bad and a lot of personal stuff happened but I'm working on chapters four and five..! Four is going to be a short one like the last chapter, but I hope to make five a lot longer! Thank you guys for being patient with me,, ahah,,

Seated in traffic, an aspiring jazz musician listened to the same tape on repeat, trying to get a certain part right. Right hand practicing the movements on the dashboard of his old car. Low in value, but she does the job, as he says. His name is Jesse, past gang experience made him adapt to being called on a last-name basis. McCree, what he prefers to be called. “Th’ fuck is he doin’??” He cursed under his breath, honking at the person in front of him, quickly passing him. Ah. Being flipped off. He just kept honking, speeding down the highway.

McCree drove for about 15 minutes, pulling into a cafe right across from an ex jazz bar. It was his favorite place to drink coffee, able to look at it and brood about what should’ve been. He licked a froth moustache from his facial hair, standing up and walked back to his car. The pianist had been allowing these feelings to sit with him for almost 2 years now, doing his best to scrape together pennies to buy back the cafe that was rightfully his. 

Continuing his movements on the wheel as he drove home, fingers tapping it as if it were a piano. Playing a new melody as he drove, successively passing the time until he turned into his shady apartment complex a few miles from the cafe.

 

\---

 

Unlocking the door, McCree jolted upon hearing a crunch come from his kitchen. “Jesus fuckin’ christ! Don’t just barge in here like that.” He said, slamming the door behind him and stared at the teenage girl sitting at his kitchen table.

“Oh hey Eastwood, nice to see you finally home,” She said, eating popcorn and reading a book. She sat on a stool that she found on his counter. Her skin was tan, obviously not American like McCree.

“Shouldn’t you be in school, Fareeha?” He asked, realizing what she was sitting on. “No-no- don’t sit on that. Ree that’s very important t’ me please don’t sit on it,” He practically pleaded, receiving an eye roll from the younger, who just stood and pulled another chair up to sit on. McCree set the stool back on the counter.

“When are you gonna unpack your boxes?” She asked, gesturing to the dozens of unpacked boxes.

“When I get a club.”

“So you mean never? Look at all these unpaid bills, even I would pay my bills before scraping money together for some old building.”

“S’not just some old buildin’ it’s-” “The cafe where some famous jazz musicians played. I know.”

“Very historic. Can’t settle on anythin’ else.”

Fareeha just let out an exasperated sigh, standing up and grabbed her book and backpack. “You need to find someone, Eastwood. Otherwise this.. Won’t ever be solved.” She said, gesturing to his house and grinned up at him. “I’ll be back later,” She said, walking out of the door.

“‘M gonna change the locks!!” McCree yelled back at her, hearing a “You can’t afford it,” Echo in response.

After pouring himself a cup of coffee, McCree sat at his piano, playing a record of freeform jazz next to it. He tried to mimic the way it was played on the tape. He tried it once, one two G, scale.. No No.. The pianist took a sip of his coffee, replaying the tape and began to play it once more. One, two, D..? Yeah.. Then a scale, then back to doing the chorus. Good. Taking a satisfied sip of his coffee, he began once again.

     One,

         Two,

                D,

                    Then

                             A

                                 Scale. . .   

 

\--

 

McCree without his cowboy hat was almost like a jazz bar without a sax, or a table without a chair. After coming to work once with his cowboy hat, he was kicked out. Almost fired. Now on his last strike, he walked into work, seeing his boss. “Hey boss, glad to be back.”

“Glad to see you. Play the list. None of that free jazz shit,” The bald man said bluntly, almost walking away before McCree butted in.

“Hey- I was wondering if I could do a.. One for you one for me..” He asked, grinning cheekily, seeing a look of disapproval from the other’s face. “Two for you, one for me…?” Oh god, he’s really tiptoeing on spikes. “Aight.. All for you, none for me,” Seeing a smile from his boss.

“Yes, good.”

“Mutual decision,”

“Yeah. My decision.”

McCree sighed, sitting down in front of the piano, opening his book to Jingle Bells. Giving a sarcastic look to no one in particular, he started playing the upbeat tune. Thoughts ran through his head as he played, unable to just focus on this not-jazz music. He thought that his jazz was good. Better than this repetitive garbage. He desperately needed money though, so he was doing whatever he could to earn cash.

After almost an hour of playing the list, the christmas song transformed into the one he was practicing at his apartment. Another part was added to it though, making a completely different melody than what he’d ever played before. Everything around him drowned out into a black abyss of nothing. An imaginary spotlight on him. Attention was all on him. This was his show. This was what he was supposed to do.

 

One, Two, D, and then a Scale.

 

The pianist stood, only for his illusion to be broken, back in the restaurant. No one noticed. No one paid attention. He was just alone. McCree’s blood ran cold when he heard someone clear his throat behind him. Defeated, he walked over to his boss.

“You’re fired,” The older said.

“I.. I don’t think yer sayin’ what yer thinkin’,”

“Yeah, right, you’re fired.”

“But you mean. . .”

“You’re fired!”

“This.. This is just a warnin’, right?”

“What planet are you from? I’m firing you! Get out!”

McCree was silent, walking back to the piano, grabbing his music book and the seven dollars in tips. Someone started to approach him while walking out, only to bump into him and storm out. What was that..? Something about his song..? Did he like it..? Who cares.

          He was just background noise, anyway.


	4. I Ran.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another run-in with the pianist leads to teasing and almost an actual conversation with him. It's cut short, and abandoned quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! I wrote this chapter a while ago but never really posted it so here! A week later! Next chapter will hopefully be out next week or later this week!

Spring rolled around as if nothing happened in December. Hanzo wasn’t quick to forget the man he’d been so rudely ignored by. A new season promised new opportunities, new auditions, and new disappointments. His friends still managed to drag the antisocial caterpillar to parties. “To connect with people,” They’d tell him. “To maybe meet someone big,” Was always Genji’s excuse. It was starting to get old to hear, but he went. Usually with much argument and griping.

This party was much like any other. More people ignoring him. More disappointments. More discouragements. He was starting to regret coming, especially with the band here. They only seemed to know 80s tunes. About to go check out the band, Hanzo was stopped by Amélie.

“Hanzo. Let me introduce you to my friend, Greg. He’s a… writer.” She said, obviously apprehensive to introduce the two. Greg was quick to talk to Hanzo.

“Hello, Hanzo. Have you ever considered fairytales through the eyes of the villains? I’m writing a book of Goldilocks from the perspective of the bears,”

“Really?” Hanzo asked, grinning slyly at a miserable-looking Amélie.

“Yeah, I think I could make it big. Like it could be a franchise or something.. Y-”

“Hey, I’m going to get a drink,” Hanzo cut him off, patting the shorter’s shoulder and moved towards the bar and looked at the selections.

Hearing the end of the song, the male made his way to the band, only to see a familiar face. Oh. This should be interesting.

“Any other requests?” The singer asked, “Yes, you in the blue shirt.” He said, pointing to Hanzo. His hair looked terrible, an unruly afro. It was like he was witnessing someone still stuck in the 80s.

“I Ran,” He suggested with a dark chuckle, seeing the bearded man give a terrified look.

“Alright, great suggestion. Hit it, piano man!” He said, starting to sing the terrible terrible song.

Satisfied in himself, Hanzo left the area, standing inside the host’s house with a soda in his hand. He was grinning, listening to the distant song play, and thinking about how miserable the pianist might be.

A few minutes later, the actor saw someone in a very clashy red jacket approach him. “Alright, I admit, I was a lil.. Curt, the other night.”

“Curt?” Hanzo Cut in, grin widening.

“Aight, I was an asshole. Okay? But requestin’ I Ran to a serious pianist-”

“Oh, so you are serious? That’s funny, because I have an audition for a serious doctor tomorrow, so may I borrow that jacket?” He asked, crossing his arms and leaned against the wall.

“Yer an actor, huh? Have- Have I seen you in anythin’?”

“Not yet-” Like at a failed audition, Hanzo was cut off by ‘afro-man’ swooping in and patting McCree’s chest.

“Back on stage in five,” He said very curtly, making the pianist groan slightly.

“He.. He don’t tell me what to do,” He said once the singer was out of sight.

“Oh..? It looks like he just did.” Hanzo replied, an amused smile crossing his face.

“Aight, fine. I’ll see you around, actor.” He said, slipping on a pair of sunglasses and walked back to the stage with a loud huff. Hanzo was unsure of how to feel about the bearded man. He was fun to tease.. to pry with.

                            Teasing will only get you so far, though.


End file.
